Albus Potter and the Slytherin Reformation
by CarpeDiemForLife
Summary: An unexpected encounter with one Scorpius Malfoy has Albus questioning his fear of being Sorted into Slytherin. After a day full of revelations, Albus makes a decision that he isn't sure he can live with.
1. But Where To Put You

_A/N: This might develop into a story of sorts, but it also may remain as simply a oneshot. Let me know what you think!_

* * *

The train rolled out of sight of the station; no longer could Albus Severus see the goodbye waves of his parents. It was only Rose's tug on his arm that drew him from the window. He followed her lead down the carriage, searching for an empty compartment they could share.

No luck. Each compartment was already occupied by at least three students, many with more. After several minutes they found James, who was crowded in with a group of his third-year friends—no room for two intruding first-years. Albus's anxiety began to climb. It looked like he and Rose would have no choice but to squeeze in with a group of complete strangers.

His fears were thrown into sharp relief when they came upon a mostly empty compartment, containing only one passenger.

_Well, that's all right_, Albus assured himself. _I can handle one person._

Rose turned over her shoulder and shot him a questioning glance. Albus gave his best approximation of a smile.

Albus's relief was fated to be short-lived, however, as the sharp _bang_ of the opening door drew the boy's attention away from the window and Albus glimpsed his face for the first time.

Scorpius Malfoy.

That didn't stop him from trailing Rose inside and closing the door behind them. He offered a tentative smile to the other boy as he and Rose stowed their trunks. For a moment the Malfoy boy looked baffled, then he scowled. The faint-hearted smile melted from Albus's face.

"I'm Rose," said the girl boldly, once she'd flounced onto her seat. Malfoy's only response was to turn his scowl towards the window, resting his chin on his hand.

"So why are you sitting alone, then?" Rose asked.

The blond head swung around. "What are you, daft?" he said disdainfully. Albus felt his stomach swoop nervously at the boy's unkind words, but Rose was unfazed.

"I just don't see how you ended up with a whole compartment to yourself," Rose continued. "Before we came in, that is, obviously. Lots of other compartments looked pretty cramped if you ask me. So how come no one else joined you?"

Malfoy stared a second longer.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked finally.

"Scorpius Malfoy, isn't it? Since you didn't bother to introduce yourself."

Here she shot Albus a scolding look, reminding him that he was guilty of the same. Albus jumped in his seat.

"Oh, right." He somehow managed to raise his green eyes to Malfoy's grey. "I'm Albus."

"I know who you are," Malfoy sneered. Albus reddened and looked away. "Well if you know who I am," Malfoy went on, "then you really _must_ be thick if you don't know why I ended up with my own compartment."

"Being pureblood doesn't give you any special privileges," said Albus without thinking.

"_Privileges_?" Malfoy barked with forced laughter. "Who said anything about privileges?"

There was a momentary silence. Albus felt that a puzzle had been put before him: he had to slot all the pieces together, all the things revealed in what Malfoy had said, and, more importantly, in what he had _not_ said.

It came to him easily.

"You're being shunned?" he quietly deduced.

"Look at that," muttered Malfoy, directing his frigid stare at the passing landscape. "Potter, the boy _genius_." Albus flushed again, but before he could speak—

"But… why?" Rose exclaimed. "We haven't even started our first year! Why on earth would everyone _shun_ you?"

For the first time, the progeny of Draco Malfoy shot them a look completely free of judgment: this was pure bewilderment.

"You really don't know anything."

"Know _what_?"

Malfoy's sneer returned. "Poor Weasley and Potter," he mocked. "No _idea_ what you're about to walk into. My parents would never hide things from me like that."

"Oh, you're full of hot air!" Rose retorted. "I bet you just scowled at anyone who came in until they left you alone."

But Albus wasn't so sure. Especially when Malfoy answered her accusation with a smirk and a shrug.

"Fine, if you like," Malfoy said. "_I_ certainly don't care if you wreck your reputation before ever stepping foot inside the Great Hall."

"If you're trying to make us leave, it won't work," Rose asserted. "We've as much right to be here as you. You're just determined to hate us because our parents didn't get along in school. I think that's just _childish_."

Malfoy actually shrieked with laughter. "'_Didn't get along'_?" he parroted. Albus and Rose shared an uncomfortable look. They waited for an explanation, but Malfoy seemed so amused with this statement that he was content to merely smirk out the window, ignoring them completely.

Albus could feel the girl beside him beginning to boil. He knew that her information-greedy, inquisitive nature was currently at war with her pride.

At long last she said, "I'm going to go put on my robes. See you soon, Al."

Rose, seeming to forget that she already had her robes on, stomped to the door. Deciding something, she whirled on the spot. "And I'm a _Granger_," she snapped. She slammed the door shut behind her.

Albus looked over at Malfoy. When the other boy said nothing—not that he'd expected him to—Albus pulled out a book, trying to ignore the nervous pace of his heartbeat.

While he read, he couldn't help but notice something odd. Whenever students passed by their compartment he instinctively glanced up, distracted by the movement in his periphery. But it unsettled him to discover that most of the students didn't simply walk by. They would stop to stare in at him and Scorpius, whispering to one another.

After the third time this happened, Albus risked another glance at Malfoy.

"Why do people know who we are?" he asked. He found himself surprisingly unaffected by the poisonous glare Malfoy shot him.

"My father always said that was one of your lot's weaknesses." Albus didn't have time to question the meaning of 'your lot'—a very smug and superior Malfoy was still talking. "You don't tell each other anything. My grandfather shared _everything _with my father, and now my father shares everything with _me_. Yours is an idiot for not doing the same."

"You don't know anything about my father, and I'll thank you not to call him names," Albus said coldly.

"No, Potter," was the snide correction, "it's _you_ who don't know anything about your father. If you did, you wouldn't've asked me why everyone knows who we are." Scorpius looked towards the glass in the compartment door, beyond which stood a gaggle of girls, perhaps fourth-years, who stared at the two boys unabashedly, their expressions ranging from disgust and loathing (for Malfoy) to admiration and confusion (for Albus).

Malfoy turned away indifferently. Albus's stomach twisted as he pondered why that might be. Was he so accustomed to such looks that they no longer bothered him?

"Fine, then," he said. "Tell me."

"Why should I?"

"Because taunting someone loses its charm quickly when the taunteé doesn't even know what he's being taunted about."

A smirk that seemed more amused than mean-spirited danced across Malfoy's face. Leaning comfortably back in his seat, he began to talk.

* * *

Albus didn't think he'd ever been _less_ concerned about the Sorting Ceremony than at the very moment he stood waiting for his name to be called. That was because his mind was filled with nothing but the incredible tale that Malfoy had told him on the Hogwarts Express.

He couldn't believe it. _His dad_ had defeated the Darkest wizard that ever lived. _His dad _was famous, was "the Boy-Who-Lived," was "the Chosen One."

_How could his parents not have told him?_

It sure explained the looks he was getting now, some of which came from students, but many of which were, quite unnervingly, coming from the Head Table. Albus shifted on his feet. The professors weren't being _half_ as subtle about staring at him as they probably thought they were.

"Granger, Rose," announced the Transfiguration teacher, Professor Luvarian.

His other thoughts fell to the wayside as his cousin stepped up to the stool, shaking slightly as she did. The Sorting Hat was settled onto her head. After a moment a blush rose up in her cheeks, and her eyes flickered nervously around the Hall. Rose bit down on her lip just as the Hat cried,

"RAVENCLAW!"

Albus stared at Rose in shock as she slid off the stool, her eyes downcast and whole body tense. _Ravenclaw_? But… but Rose had been a _shoo-in_ for Gryffindor! If _she _couldn't get into Gryffindor, what were _his_ chances?

The Ravenclaw table erupted in thunderous cheers, some rising to their feet to greet their new addition. Eyes flashing up, Rose slowly broke into a grin. Beaming, she ran to join the other first-years at her table, flushed now with what Albus thought might be pride.

…Was it possible that Rose had _wanted _Ravenclaw?

"Handell, Julius."

The momentary shock passed, and Albus's thoughts returned to their previous fixation. Now he ruminated on the _other_ half of the story, the explanation of Scorpius Malfoy's fame. Not surprisingly, the nature of Malfoy's reputation was far murkier.

Scorpius's father, Draco Malfoy, was a known rival of Albus's dad—Harry Potter—at school. In his sixth year Draco followed his father's footsteps and became a Death Eater, a servant for the Dark Lord Voldemort. The next year, both he and his parents abandoned their loyalties to Voldemort during the final battle and they went on to lead normal, non-Death Eater lives. But it seemed no one cared about Draco Malfoy's change-of-heart, not when his father, Lucius Malfoy, had been one of the most notorious Death Eaters. Many were furious that Lucius had managed to avoid imprisonment after Voldemort's defeat, thus the Malfoys were now treated as social pariahs, Draco's son being no exception.

"Malfoy, Scorpius."

A dark mutter echoed around the hall as the boy took his seat and the Sorting Hat was placed upon his head.

Malfoy stared out above the heads of the other students, no expression on his boyish features. As they all waited to hear the Sorting Hat's verdict, Albus thought back again to their conversation.

"_Now Slytherin House has become synonymous with 'Death Eater.' No mind that what it _actually_ stands for is cunning and ambition," Malfoy told him. There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice._

"_You don't want to be in Slytherin, then?"_

_Malfoy stiffened and didn't look at him. "I didn't say that."_

Scorpius was a puzzle, that was for sure, and Albus didn't really know what to make of him. Certainly his extended stay under the Hat was a sign of _some_ conflict within the boy.

The weathered voice rang out,

"SLYTHERIN!"

This time, unlike every time before it, the House in question did not clap, hoot, or stomp its feet. There was a smattering of applause from the Slytherin table, but it was a far more muted welcome than anyone else had received. Even the _Slytherins_ were embarrassed to get the son of a famed Death Eater. Albus felt a pang.

"Orion, Merlinda."

He thought about his fear, a fear he'd harbored for _years_, about being sorted into Slytherin. But… hadn't his parents always taught him not to judge anyone based on their blood status or their House? Why then had his parents also, perhaps without meaning to, taught him to hate Slytherin? His parents weren't the only ones at fault, of course. Uncle Ron had always been the _most_ vocally disparaging towards Slytherin.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Did his family carry the very same prejudices that Albus had been taught were so wrong?

"Potter, Albus."

A hush fell over the Great Hall. Swallowing, Albus forced his body into forward motion until he plunked down on the rickety stool, his mouth dry as ash. Professor Luvarian came up behind him, and then the leathery fabric touched his head.

_Hmmm__…__ Tricky indeed. Very bright, I see, and eager to learn. But there is more, much more. Courage you may have, but it is tampered by fear. Gryffindor might help you to overcome._

_Though perhaps more fitted for noble Slytherin. There is greatness in you, oh yes, powers of creation and endurance. You have ambition—but like your courage, it lies hidden. Slytherin could make you great indeed. But I suppose you too will not wish to join that House._

Albus felt certain he detected an insulted tone behind that statement. 'You _too_'? Could it be possible the Hat meant his father?

_Let us dig deeper, deeper. There is loyalty here, it seems, a strong desire for all things fair and just, goodness me. Why yes, Hufflepuff might suit you well, very well__…_

**I don't want Hufflepuff. **

Albus's eyes widened as he realized that he had indeed spoken these words to the Hat. He'd made no conscious decision up until this point, but suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted.

The Sorting Hat was unquestionably irritated now.

_Not Hufflepuff? Then where shall I put you? Ravenclaw would not do. Thus it is Gryffindor you seek. I must warn you, it will not do so well for you as Hufflepuff._

**I don't want Gryffindor either. I want Slytherin.**

In the ensuing silence, Albus could feel his heart preparing to give out on him at any second. He was uncomfortably aware of how long he had now been seated on the stool; the students were beginning to whisper to one another. He screwed his eyes shut so he didn't have to see.

_Slytherin? Are you quite sure?_

**You said I would do well there, didn't you?**

_Why yes, but I do not see—Ahhhh__…_

Albus squirmed uncomfortably as the image of a certain blond-haired Slytherin rose to the surface of his thoughts, accompanied by a rush of sympathy and a need to mend what had been broken.

_Perhaps I judged too quickly_, said the Hat in a sly voice. _Courage you _do_ have, to brave the hated House in your pursuit of justice. Gryffindor might do well with you after all._

**It isn't Gryffindor I want.**

_You must be certain. I do not only decide where you sleep for the next seven years, you know—I decide the course your life will take. Things will be far different for you in Slytherin than in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor._

In truth, Albus wasn't sure at all. What would his parents think? What would James think, and Rose? Wasn't this exactly what he'd dreaded for so many years? And now he was _asking_ for it?

**I'm sure**_**.**_

_Very well. Then there can be no question. It must be—_

"SLYTHERIN!"

A resounding gasp echoed off the ancient stone walls, with a few screams thrown in for good measure. Albus's eyes shot open, his panic skyrocketing as he was confronted with so many shocked, scared, even repulsed faces. He stumbled off the stool, nearly losing his balance. His eyes turned of their own accord to the Gryffindor table. James stared back at him as if this were the first time he'd ever _truly_ seen his younger brother, and he didn't know whether he liked what he saw.

Fighting to keep the tears at bay—that was all he needed now, to earn a reputation as Hogwarts's biggest ninny on the very first day—Albus walked towards the Slytherin table, each step ringing out like a gong. The Slytherins were silent, not even granting him the meager welcome that Malfoy had earned.

A hesitant clap sounded. Albus gave a start and tried to spot the person responsible, but soon the clap spread, rippling outward, growing louder and louder until the mass of Slytherin students jumped to their feet, screaming and hollering and making the biggest ruckus of the night.

Almost stopping in his tracks, Albus forced himself to finish the trek and slide into the empty seat next to Scorpius Malfoy, the only Slytherin who had failed to join in. He watched Albus with a distrustful eye.

At the behest of Headmistress McGonagall, the Slytherin table finally silenced itself and the Sorting Ceremony was able to continue. Soon it was finished, and, after a few announcements from the Headmistress, the feast began.

A hand stuck itself into his face.

"Jemima Blishwick," introduced the girl behind the hand. Albus craned his neck up to see her. "Fifth-year, House prefect, team Chaser, and the baddest bitch in this place."

A round of laughs and whistles followed this statement, accompanied by shouts of,

"Hell yeah!"

"Damn right you are."

and "Work it, bitch, work it!"

This earned another round of laughs and a feral grin from Jemima.

Albus grasped her hand. "Albus Potter."

"Welcome to House Slytherin, Al," she said, her low voice carrying some heavy meaning in the otherwise innocuous words. Albus would have been hard-pressed to guess whether it was her way of saying, "Watch your back, punk!" or "Good luck; Merlin knows you're gonna need it."

Soon everyone around him was making introductions, pumping his hand up and down, including him in the conversation though he didn't speak a word.

The only exception, once again, was Malfoy, who no one spoke to and who spoke to no one. He merely sat in silence at Albus's side and ate his food. Deciding that Scorpius was a problem for another day, Albus let himself share in the camaraderie of the Slytherin table, leaving the other boy to his own solitary devices.

Glad though he was to receive this hearty welcome from the Slytherins, Albus could still feel eyes branding him with judgment all throughout the meal. He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd made a very very bad decision. Had a momentary fit of insanity just ruined his next seven years?

Had it ruined his whole life?


	2. Namesakes

_A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews and follows! I think perhaps what I'll do is post new oneshots as they occur to me, and see where that takes us. These next few will deal specifically with the first week or so after the Sorting, as Albus struggles to adjust, but then I think they'll focus more on Albus and Scorpius over the years. What do you guys think? Sound good? Anyways, thanks again, and please review!_

* * *

The very first day of classes, and he was already in trouble.

That was all Albus Potter could think as he trailed miserably behind Headmistress McGonagall, who had intercepted him as he was leaving his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class and asked him to accompany her to her office.

Albus wiped sweaty palms against his robes. What had he done wrong? He hadn't broken any rules—he hadn't done _anything_!

There was only one thing it could possibly be. The Sorting. She was angry with him for being Sorted into Slytherin.

"_You have stained your father's legacy with shame, Mr. Potter,_" she would say, never raising her voice. McGonagall always spoke in precise, measured tones—Albus had learned as much on the few holiday occasions that he'd seen her. "_A Potter in Slytherin House, after centuries of Gryffindors. Your father will be devastated to hear of this._"

Or perhaps she'd already Owl-ed his parents the news and they were here, waiting for him in the Headmistress's office with angry frowns and broken hearts.

"_My son__…__ a Slytherin__…_" his mother would moan. "_How could I have raised such a monster?_"

"_It isn't your fault, Ginevra_," McGonagall would reassure. "_Some just turn out badly. There is no use in blaming yourself._"

"_Is there any way to change this?_" his mother would ask. "_Surely it was just a mistake. Let him try the Hat on again_."

And as the Headmistress and his mother discussed, a gentle hand would settle on his shoulder.

"_But Al_," his father would whisper, the pain in his green eyes like a reflection of Albus's own. "_Why didn't you tell the Sorting Hat you wanted Gryffindor, like I told you?_"

No words would be needed: he would see the truth in Albus's eyes. The hand would retreat, and his father's face would scrunch with disgust. A son unfairly placed in Slytherin he could have borne, could have accepted, could have sympathized. A son who _wanted_ to be in Slytherin, well…

Albus would do best just to accept his disownment now.

"Mr. Potter!"

The sharp voice jolted Albus free from his anxiety-produced visions. McGonagall had stopped in her tracks and now faced him directly, looking every inch the firm disciplinarian. Albus guessed that she had called his name more than once. He gulped.

With a stern gaze over her rectangular glasses, she said, "You are not in any trouble."

Albus expelled the shallow breath that he'd trapped in the back of his throat. His next breath in was both deeper and shakier, vibrating inside his torso.

"There is something in my office I wish to show you," the Headmistress continued. "I believe you will find it of interest."

"O-oh," he stammered. "Oh, er-"

"I'm sorry, Potter, I should have made my intentions clear," McGonagall interrupted. "I sometimes forget what a student must think when the Headmistress summons them to her office without an explanation. It may be that I'm growing too old for my post."

"You're not old, Headmistress," Albus blurted.

McGonagall smiled wryly, and he blushed. "It isn't good to make a habit of lying to your professors, but in this case I appreciate the effort." She sighed. "No, I was already old when your mother and father attended Hogwarts, and I am certainly no younger now. But that is neither here nor there. We were on our way to my office, I believe?"

Her eyes pierced him again, causing him to jump. Albus could do no more than nod jerkily while waiting for his muscles to relax again. They did not do so until the Headmistress turned her gaze away and they resumed their walk. And even then, only gradually.

* * *

"Elfric the Eager."

The great stone gargoyle shifted aside. Staring amazedly at the enchanted guardian, Albus followed the Headmistress onto the turning staircase. A short trip up the stairs and through an immense wooden door led them straight into the Headmistress's office.

Albus took in all that he could, but the room was filled bottom to brim with magical artifacts, not to mention a grand collection of books that Albus's fingers itched to pick up. He spotted a Pensieve in the corner, just like the one Dad used for work. Mounted on the wall was the Sword of Gryffindor, its red rubies shining in the hilt. The boy quickly turned his head away, feeling guilty just for _looking_ at the beautiful, ancient sword when he himself was no Gryffindor.

His eyes turned instead to the other wall ornamentation. He was surprised to find a great many portraits of old witches and wizards, all of whom seemed to be sleeping. _That_ didn't seem like something particularly useful to keep in one's office.

Then his eyes fixed on a man with long white hair and silver spectacles, and his breath caught in his chest.

This was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, one of his namesakes. Albus recognized him from his Chocolate Frog card. The portrait snored gently, his wispy beard blowing upwards with each exhalation.

"Albus." The boy jumped to attention, but McGonagall wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the portrait. "You can drop the act now, I think."

The snores ceased instantly and the old man's eyelids lifted, revealing a pair of twinkling blue irises.

"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore said warmly, "you always see right through me."

"You too, Severus."

Albus gave another jolt as the portrait next to Dumbledore—that of a young, dark-haired, hook-nosed man—opened its eyes. These eyes were dark and did not twinkle with delight. If anything, he scowled at the Headmistress.

"Will I never be left to rest in peace, even in death?" he griped. Then his gaze shifted to the young boy standing beside McGonagall—the spitting image of an eleven-year-old Harry Potter sans lightning bolt scar and glasses. Snape did not seem to notice the boy's stunned, admiring gaze.

He sneered. "Sent to the Headmistress on his very first day? How… unsurprising. I have no doubt the boy will faithfully carry on the legacy of his arrogant, trouble-making—"

"May I introduce you both to the second child of Harry and Ginevra Potter, Mr. Albus Severus Potter?"

Snape's jaw clamped shut with almost comical speed.

Albus, for his part, could not decide whom he most wanted to stare at. Snape's biting words had not put him off in the slightest. All he could think was that he was meeting his two deceased namesakes, his two heroes since the earliest days of his childhood, something he'd never imagined possible. He finally settled on Severus Snape, who was, after all, a part of the reason Albus had been brave enough to choose Slytherin.

Snape felt highly uncomfortable under the intense, very _positive_ attention he was receiving. He might have squirmed were it not beneath his dignity.

"Although I am sure this comes as a great disappointment to you, Severus, Mr. Potter has _not_ gotten into any trouble," McGonagall informed him. "You must save your acerbic wit for another day."

"Why is he here, then?" Snape asked, unable to resist another glance at the boy.

"I imagined young Albus Severus might like to meet the two Headmasters whom he was named after."

"And I am grateful that you did," came Dumbledore's soft timbre.

Albus was startled to see that the ancient wizard's eyes were brimming with tears, and he bestowed on Albus a smile filled with wonder. Slightly embarrassed, Albus returned the smile shyly.

"Like the very image of his father," Dumbledore said.

"Yet another Gryffindor to be awarded points for breaking curfew and ignoring school rules, no doubt," said Snape, righteous venom returning to his tone.

Flushing a dark red, Albus stared down at his suddenly all-too-fascinating shoes.

"Would you like to do the honors, Potter, or shall I?"

The way she said it made Albus feel like they were in on a juicy secret together; and in a way, he supposed, they were. But he wanted to be brave enough to say it himself, despite the swarm of locusts in his stomach. So Albus cleared his throat and announced,

"I was Sorted into Slytherin, actually."

There was no denying the glee that Headmistress McGonagall derived from Snape's bugged-out eyes and gaping mouth.

"Were you indeed?" replied Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling more brightly than ever. Albus got the sense that he too was enjoying his colleague's reaction. "I am delighted to hear it, Albus.

"My my, that will take some getting used to," he noted lightheartedly.

"But aren't you… disappointed in me, sir?" asked Albus, voicing the fear that even now squeezed his chest like a boa constrictor. "For not being in Gryffindor, like you and my dad?"

White eyebrows shot up. "Disappointed? Oh, my dear boy, no. On the contrary, I could not be more proud."

"What? _Why_?"

"There is nothing braver than being true to oneself," the former Headmaster told him. "That you chose to join Slytherin, rather than run from who you are, shows great courage."

"As always, you make everything about the qualities of your precious Gryffindor House," snapped Snape. "It has never occurred to you that not everyone covets bravery as the most admirable virtue. _Perhaps_ the Hat's placement shows that the boy has great _cleverness_ and _ambition_."

"Oh that too, no question," Dumbledore agreed happily. Snape glared at him across the frames of their portraits.

Everyone was surprised to hear a quiet laugh emerge from the boy. All three heads turned to him, but Albus did not feel self-conscious as he normally would. Dumbledore and McGonagall smiled fondly at him, and even Snape seemed more curious than annoyed.

"But, sir," said Albus, unable to keep his curiosity at bay now that he was more relaxed, "how did you know that I _chose_ Slytherin?"

"Ah. You see, Albus, I assumed that your father would have told you of his _own_ experience with the Sorting Hat. Had you wished to choose a House other than Slytherin, I am certain we would be having a very different conversation."

"You were right," Albus admitted. "My father did tell me."

"And yet you chose Slytherin, knowing that all your family before you has gone into Gryffindor." Dumbledore peered kindly at him over the rim of his glasses. "As I said, I am very proud of you."

"I didn't plan to. Not at first. But then I…" The words faltered on his tongue. "I met someone. Who made me think that… maybe all Slytherin really needs is a new image. I mean, in the end, it's all about perception, isn't it, sir? Slytherin itself isn't bad, it just needs to present itself a little differently."

Dumbledore gave a hearty chuckle. Growing warm, Albus picked at the sleeve of his robe.

"You are quite right, of course," Dumbledore said. "I daresay you already have a better understanding of inter-House politics than most."

"You say that another student is responsible for this… change of heart," said Snape. "I wonder who could have made such an impression."

"Er… It was… erm… Scorpius Malfoy," he admitted under his breath, refusing to look at any of the Headmasters. "We met on the train."

"Well, what do you say, Severus?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet but happy. "This generation has the power to change much that we could not, don't you think? Young Albus is evidence enough that the old prejudices are beginning to die out."

"You have always been an optimistic old fool," Snape retorted. But somehow the admonishment did not _sound_ like one: it sounded, if anything, like a compliment masquerading as something meaner. Albus kept down a smile. Severus Snape was a proud man—his father had told him as much—and would likely not appreciate a student taking amusement from his rude façade.

"Now, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said. Albus turned to her. "I do not wish to detain you from your studies," she told him. "You will have other opportunities to visit Headmasters Snape and Dumbledore, but if there is anything more you would like to say at this time, now is your chance."

Albus stared at the two portraits. There were so _many_ things he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure he had the guts to say them. He had to say _something_, though, some appreciation for the inspiration they'd given him all these years.

His tongue unglued itself from the roof of his mouth. For several seconds, his mouth hung open stupidly.

"Thank you," he forced out. The simple two-word phrase lightened the weight in his chest. "That's all. Thank you for… giving me something to aspire to. I don't want to let either of you down."

"That, I am sure you could never do," Dumbledore assured him. Snape said nothing, but considered him with a calculative gaze. "Give your parents my love, Albus."

Albus nodded at the legendary wizard, returning his smile. With a light touch on his back, McGonagall shepherded Albus to the door. It was as she pulled it open that the voice of Severus Snape spoke quietly from behind them.

"Good luck, Potter."

Albus did not turn back around, but he was positively buoyant as he made his journey through the castle to the Slytherin common room. _His_ common room.


	3. Lion in a Snake's Skin

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them. Still no Scorpius for the time being, but I promise he won't be away forever._

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I expect someone has told you the news by now, but I wanted to tell you myself. I'm in Slytherin. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you_.

Albus gnawed on his lip. Flipping his quill around, he swept the feathers back and forth over the last sentence until it was completely removed. Erasable Quills were one of Uncle George's most useful inventions, in Albus's opinion. He dipped the quill's tip into his inkpot, then lowered it to the parchment and scratched out new words.

_I met Headmasters Dumbledore and Snape today. Headmistress McGonagall took me to her office and I got to see their portraits. Dumbledore is just how you always described him, Dad. I think he misses you. He almost cried when he saw me. He sends his love to you both._

_Snape is a lot like I imagined too. But he seems softer somehow. I wonder if hanging next to Dumbledore for twenty years has worn him down. It was either that or go mad, I suppose._

The door to the first-year boys' dormitory flung open, banging against the wall and admitting two boys, Marcus Demott and Sebastian Silverton. Albus shoved the letter behind his back, watching them for any signs of ill will.

Without breaking the flow of their conversation regarding illegal dragon hunting in China, Marcus and Sebastian both nodded at him. He returned the gesture, feeling rather stupid and wondering if he would ever stop feeling like an imposter who would be tarred and feathered upon discovery.

Settling the letter back in his lap, Albus wondered if he should tell his parents about the other Slytherin first-years. It wouldn't take long. Sebastian and Marcus were, after all, the only first-year boys besides himself and Scorpius. Combined with their three first-year girls, Slytherin had a grand total of seven new students, the lowest in the school.

Deciding against it, Albus instead continued his letter thus:

_I haven't seen James since the Sorting. I guess it's just because we're in different years and Houses. But it feels like he's avoiding me. Do you think he_

Stopping midsentence, Albus scowled and erased the entire paragraph. What was he, five years old? His parents didn't need to know about James. He'd handle it himself. He tried again.

_I had Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts today._

There. His classes. That was a safe subject.

_At first I thought Professor Twill was too absent-minded to be much good as a Potions professor, but I was wrong. I think maybe she seems so absent-minded all the time because she saves all of her focus and concentration for potion-making. The class was very fast-paced, but I enjoyed it._

_Professor Wulfclaw is very gruff, and I think most students are afraid of him, but I don't know. He seemed like a good teacher to me. Maybe that's just my Slytherin bias speaking. Or maybe everyone else's bias _against_ Slytherin is what's making them dislike him._

The last two lines were discarded. It was stupid to bring up his House unnecessarily. He certainly didn't need to share his thoughts about the irrational school-wide prejudice against Slytherin. As much as he loved them, his parents were Gryffindors through and through: they saw Slytherin House through the discoloured lens of a House rivalry. They wouldn't understand.

Albus looked up. Had… had he really just thought that? Was he already thinking of his parents as _Gryffindors_ (some scorn involved) and himself as a _Slytherin_ (some feelings of victimhood involved) who understood more than they possibly could?

Shaking, Albus set his quill down. He looked out of the window by his bed, into the depths of the Black Lake. It was mostly dark, but the occasional sea creature swam by, adding colour to the scenery. Albus found it peaceful to watch, comforting even. The water surrounded him, embraced him in a pleasant confinement: Without it, his anxiety would melt his insides and his liquefied organs would spill out of his body. But the water held him together and sent fish swimming by to remind him that he wasn't alone.

"Oi, Potter!"

Albus swung his gaze around.

"You want to go up to dinner with us?" Marcus offered.

"Er… Yeah, sure," he said. "Thanks."

Marcus and Sebastian got up from their beds and walked to the door. Albus followed.

"You can just call me Al," he said.

"Alright. I'm Marcus."

"Sebastian."

Albus nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"So who were you writing to, Al?" Sebastian asked as the trio made their way through the common room. The room was currently inhabited by a group of fourth-year girls gossiping in the corner, a congregation of older students lounging by the fire, and some younger students playing Wizard's Chess at the tables lined along the sides of the room.

The question seemed innocent enough, but Albus wasn't sure if he would lose cool points for telling the truth. No lie readily occurred to him, though, so it was the truth he gave.

"My parents."

"Yeah, I wrote home to my mum yesterday," Marcus said. Inside his mind Albus heaved a sigh of relief. "She made me promise, on pain of Howler."

"Oo, nasty, mate," said Sebastian. "Good thing you sent it."

"No way I'm risking that," Marcus agreed. "How 'bout you, Seb? Written home yet?"

"Nah, my parents don't really care." Sebastian shrugged. "They'll probably write me a month from now, just to make sure I'm in Slytherin."

"Slytherin family, then?" Albus asked.

"Yup, always been."

"Is it the same with you, Marcus?"

"What, you worried you might be the only kid who jumped ship to Slytherin?" the boy jibed. Albus flushed at the very accurate accusation. He _was_ worried that he might be the only kid in the first-year class that didn't come from a long line of Slytherin purebloods.

"I was just asking."

"Yeah, sure. Anyways, my folks were both in Slytherin, but it's not a family tradition or nothin'. My parents wouldn't have roasted me on a stick if I'd ended up someplace else, like Seb's would've."

"How do you think _yours _will take it?" Sebastian asked Albus. "You being in Slytherin?"

Albus ran a hand through his messy hair. "I don't really know. They've always said it doesn't matter, but when your whole family has been in Gryffindor, it kind of feels like it matters. You know?"

"Sure," Sebastian agreed. "My parents can talk through their butts about how blood status doesn't matter, but you can bet they'd have a problem if I brought home a Mudblood girlfriend—"

"_Don't_ use that word," Albus cut in, his teeth clenched with barely controlled anger. Marcus and Sebastian looked taken aback.

"Look, _I've_ got no problem with Muggleborns," Sebastian informed him. "I don't mean it offensively—"

"Well I _find_ it offensive," Albus said, "and I bet every Muggleborn in the school would say the same."

Marcus and Sebastian shared a look, and though the topic turned quickly to other things Albus felt a sinking certainty that any friendship he might have had with these boys had been permanently soiled. They'd seen his outsider colours, and they wouldn't want to be friends with a lion in a snake's skin. Albus told himself that it wasn't a loss. Why should he care about being friends with boys who tossed around such vulgar language?

But it _was_ a loss, and he knew he was lying to himself. He made a wish on Merlin's favourite neckerchief that he wouldn't strike out quite so quickly with the first-year Slytherin girls.


	4. Blood and Water

_A/N: One more pure filler. We'll get some Scorpius up in here next time, I promise. And that will really get the ball rolling. But for now, enjoy some Albus continuing to deal with the immediate consequences of the Sorting. Please review! I can't tell you how much I appreciate every review I've gotten so far. You guys are great._

* * *

Friday came quickly, and with it a nerve-wracking dilemma. This was the day that Albus was supposed to visit Hagrid for tea. They had arranged it weeks before the start of term. Now Albus didn't know _what _to do. Should he still go? Or would Hagrid not want to see him because he'd been Sorted into Slytherin?

This question plagued his mind all throughout double Potions. As on Monday, the four Slytherin boys sat together at a table, Marcus and Sebastian on one side and Albus and Scorpius on the other. Whereas Marcus and Sebastian chatted away like the oldest of friends, Scorpius would hardly _look_ at Albus, let alone talk to him.

In every single class this had proven true. In each one—Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Herbology, Astronomy, Charms—Albus had seated himself next to Scorpius, and still they had yet to share a single word. For his part, Albus could not overcome the anxiety that electrified his limbs whenever he considered speaking. Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to absolutely everything, including Albus.

Despite this frustration and his concerns about Hagrid, double Potions was easily the best lesson of Albus's week. He was discovering that he had a real knack for the art. Even Professor Twill thought so, offering Albus quiet words of praise when he turned in his Vanishing potion at the end of class. Albus left the drafty, underground classroom feeling quite cheery.

Until he remembered Hagrid.

The next several hours were spent in deliberation. He was so distressed that he only picked at his lunch, finding little appetite for food.

Finally, when the clock in the Slytherin common room read 5 o'clock, he made up his mind. Albus sprinted out of the castle and across the grounds, fairly flying, his robes billowing up behind him. Five minutes later he was pounding on Hagrid's door, bent in half and panting from the run.

The door swung open and Hagrid beamed down at him.

"There yeh are, Albus! Come on inside." Albus followed the half-giant in, quickly scanning the cluttered home. It felt very much like Hagrid, and he decided he liked it. "I was startin' to think yeh'd forgotten."

"Yeah, sorry, that's just… I just wasn't sure if I was gonna come," Albus confessed, fighting the urge to wrap his robes as tightly around himself as they would go.

"Oh." Hagrid, who had been retrieving a kettle from the fire, stopped in his movements. "Oh, is tha'…? Well it was sweet o' yeh to make the trip, Al, but you don' need to be doin' me any favors. I jus' thought… But of course yeh got other things to be gettin' on with, friends and schoolwork and the like. You can go on back—"

"Hagrid, no!" Albus gasped. "Not because I didn't want to see you! I just… didn't know if… you'd still want me to come."

Bushy eyebrows pulling together, Hagrid asked, "Whadda you mean, if I'd still want yeh? Course I do! What would make yeh think a nutty thing like tha'?"

"Well it's just… what with the Sorting and all…" Albus muttered. "Me being a Slytherin..."

"Albus Potter!" Hagrid boomed. He clapped a hand on Albus's shoulder, sending the boy tumbling to the ground. The professor picked him back up, brushed him off apologetically, and settled him more gently in a chair. "You bein' a Slytherin don't mean a thing, ya hear?" he went on. "There ain't no better kid on the planet, and yer House don' change a thing about yeh."

Albus smiled timidly. "You mean that?"

"O' _course_ I mean it. Now stop fussin' over silly things an' have a cake." A plate of rock cakes was thrust under Albus's nose and he took one. His stomach growled, reminding him of its lunchtime neglect. "Made 'em up special for yeh."

"Thanks, Hagrid," he said. "You're the best."

"Nah."

"Really," Albus insisted. "You are. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Now _tha's_ better," Hagrid declared. "Firs' sensible thing you've said all day."

Albus laughed. "Yeah, I guess."

Hagrid poured him a cup of tea and then sat down with a bucket of his own.

"So how are you, Hagrid?" he asked. "You were with Charlie in Bulgaria this summer, weren't you?"

"Oh, if on'y you could've seen 'em, Al. Beauties, all of 'em. There were this one Bulgarian Brownsnout…"

* * *

As Albus was making his way back up to the castle, the sounds of whistles and yells floated on the wind to his ears. Turning towards the Quidditch pitch, he realized what it was: Gryffindor team tryouts were today. James had been talking about it all summer, determined as he was to make Chaser this year.

His feet set a new course for the pitch. The closer he got the better he could hear the Gryffindor Captain, Louisa Burkhart, shouting commands and running drills. Figures clad in gold and red zoomed back and forth up in the air. Albus stepped just inside the pitch, where he could watch the tryouts but would not be easily spotted.

Beater tryouts were on when Albus arrived. The empty position was soon filled by a 5'9", broad-shouldered boy.

Keeper tryouts came next. Many hopefuls took their turn guarding the goal posts from Captain Burkhart and the other Chaser, Rebecca Kingston. The job was eventually given to a lean young lady with bright blonde hair pinned up in a bun. The disappointed students landed their brooms and trudged unhappily off of the pitch. Many shot Albus disapproving looks as they walked past and noticed his presence.

Chaser tryouts came last. There was only one open spot, and after a session of brutal flying exercises and practice shots, it went to the best candidate: James Potter. Albus smiled as James sailed around the pitch, hollering and high-fiving his friends who had come out to support him. When Burkhart landed her broom and the team followed suit, Albus made his exit.

He waited for his brother outside of the changing rooms. It was only a few minutes before James came strolling out, laughing boisterously, an arm around the new beater. The other boy couldn't seem to resist James's walking-on-air attitude and he grinned along.

"James!"

James turned around, surprised eyes lighting on Albus. After a second he whispered something to his friend, who headed up to the castle alone as James went over to his younger brother.

"Sup, Al?" he asked, smiling a little too stiffly. Albus felt an invisible Bludger connect painfully with his stomach. He looked to the side, letting his unruly hair fall like a curtain over his eyes.

"That was some pretty good flying," he said.

"Oh, you saw that?" James ruffled his hair, grinning a little more sincerely. "Yeah, I had a good day. And I got it! I'm the new Gryffindor Chaser."

"That's great, James."

An awkward silence fell between them.

"Hey, look," James said, turning back over his shoulder, "if you don't need anything, I'd better—"

"So you _are_ avoiding me. On purpose."

James recoiled as though he'd been smacked. "What? No! Don't be a doofus, doofus. It's only your first week so you don't get it yet. I'm juggling classes, homework, friends, now Quidditch…"

"Are you angry at me for being Sorted into Slytherin?" Albus asked quietly.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair and shifting on his feet. "No, I'm—How shallow do you think I _am_?"

"You tell me."

"Back off, Al, alright?" the older boy snapped. "What do you want from me? I'm not some bloody saint. I'm not angry, but that doesn't mean…"

Tears started to burn his eyes. "Doesn't mean _what_?" Albus bit out.

"Well, it's just… not that _easy_, alright? I don't want everyone thinking that I… that I… you know."

"Care about me?"

"That I get on with Slytherins!" James shouted.

"What would be wrong with that?" Albus shouted back.

James scoffed. "What, you're going to start defending them now that you are one?"

"_Defend_ them?" Albus yelped. "From _what_? What have they done that needs to be _defended_?" James didn't reply. He stared wordlessly out across the grounds.

"I never thought it would actually happen, you know," he murmured. His brown eyes met Albus's green; Albus could see the guilt in them. "I was just teasing. I didn't—I never thought you'd really be in Slytherin. I wasn't ready to deal with it! I don't… I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I _hate_ Slytherin, Al, I really do, but I don't hate _you_ and it's not fair and I don't understand how this happened in the first place." He kicked sullenly at a clump of grass. "You should've been in Gryffindor," he muttered. "You deserved it."

Albus let out a deep breath. "I chose Slytherin."

James stared at him in horror. "You _what_?"

"The Sorting Hat offered me Hufflepuff. Gryffindor too. I chose Slytherin."

"Why the hell would you _do _that, Al?" James hissed. "Of all the stupid—"

"Because I wanted it."

James's mouth snapped shut. He seemed stuck somewhere between curiosity and revulsion.

"Because I like what Slytherin stands for, and I _don't_ like how everyone _thinks_ of it."

"So what're you gonna do? Overhaul the whole House image and start over?" James snorted at his own joke. That is, until Albus shrugged and he realized with no small amount of dread that his younger brother was being perfectly serious.

"Al, you're _insane_! You can't singlehandedly change the reputation that Slytherin has had for centuries. You're just gonna go down with the ship."

"Why can't I? Headmaster Dumbledore thought it was a _brilliant_ idea."

James blinked. "Head—What?"

Albus sighed. "Never mind. The point is… I just… I don't want to lose my brother," he admitted heavily. James made a wounded expression.

"Look, I don't… I don't wanna lose you either."

"Then can you stop avoiding me?" he pleaded, trying very much not to look like the hurt little boy he was. "I know that you're worried about what your friends will think, but—"

"You know what? Screw 'em."

So startled he almost thought he'd misheard, Albus gawked at a grinning James.

"They'll just have to deal," James said. "Blood's thicker than water, right?" He wrapped an arm around Albus's shoulders, pulling his brother towards the castle with him.

"The saying is actually 'The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb' so—"

"Shut up, nerd."

Albus scowled, and gave a cry of "Hey!" when James ruffled his hair so that it stuck up in troublesome tufts. Trying unsuccessfully to flatten the hair back onto his head, Albus was thus unprepared when James declared, "Last one to the Great Hall has to feed the thestrals!" and raced off without a glance backwards.

Albus ran after him, yelling, "_YOU SAID THEY WERE INVISIBLE_!"


	5. Fame Isn't Everything, Mr Potter

Alone on a beautiful Saturday morning, Albus sat himself by the edge of the Black Lake, taking off his shoes and socks and sticking his bare feet into the chilly water. Relaxing under the comfortably cloudy sky, Albus pulled a letter from his pocket and smoothed out the wrinkled parchment.

The letter had arrived at breakfast on Tuesday, and he had reread it every day since. He reread it again now. It went:

_Dear Albus,_

_We love you so very much. Slytherin House has gained an exceptional student, and we know you will make us proud._

His parents went on to answer the other contents of his letter, but this first paragraph was all he really cared about. This small but powerful reassurance had kept him going all week. Every time that the doubt swooped down and dug its fearsome claws into him, Albus just pulled out his parents' letter and reread those words.

At the end of the letter they'd even offered to come see him—_Headmistress McGonagall would be more than willing to temporarily connect her office to the Floo network_, they said—clearly concerned that Albus might require a face-to-face assurance from them. Albus had vehemently promised them that a visit was unnecessary. Still, the offer warmed his heart.

Tucking the letter back into his pocket, Albus closed his eyes and reclined on the grass.

"There you are!"

A very welcome face ended his brief repose. Albus smiled as Rose plopped down next to him, sitting cross-legged just out of reach of the water.

"I meant to find you at breakfast, but you weren't there. Did you even eat this morning? You _know_ that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, don't you?"

"You've been listening to Grandpa's Muggle theories again," Albus retorted. "'Sides, I wasn't hungry."

"_That's _no excuse."

"I'll eat an extra big lunch," he promised, lips quirking upwards.

"Well—_good_, but that's not really the point. If you skip breakfast you…"

Albus tuned out the rest of Rose's lecture, listening instead to the birds and the wind and the distant sound of children's voices. He looked up at the castle, that ancient, timeless monument to magic that loomed high above them. Hogwarts was beautiful. It was hard to imagine the school had ever been the battleground for a devastating war.

"Hey, Al?"

He turned back to Rose, concerned by the way her voice had suddenly gone soft.

"Are you… okay?"

Albus didn't need to ask what she meant. He sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"I'm okay," he said.

Rose waited. When he didn't continue, she said, "Because you know… we all still love you. This doesn't change anything."

"I know."

"And if anyone gives you a hard time—"

"I should go to Headmistress McGonagall?" he completed, shooting her a look. They both knew how unlikely he was to do such a thing—not due to pride, but to anxiety.

Rose grimaced. "All right, Professor Wulfclaw, then! He's your Head of House, that's his job."

"Yeah, maybe."

The grass behind them rustled with someone's approach. Or several someones: three first-year Ravenclaw girls had come to a stop about a foot away. Albus glanced at their faces before shifting his attention to their shoes.

"Rose, we're going to the library to work on Professor Longbottom's assignment. Want to come with us?" There was a heavy pause, and the girl added with obvious reluctance, "He can come too, if you like."

Perking up with interest, Rose turned a questioning eye on her cousin. Albus, who could hardly imagine receiving a colder invitation than he had, shook his head.

"I think I'll just stay out here a while longer," he told her.

"But you don't mind, do you?" she asked, practically bouncing in her eagerness to go.

"Course not. I'll see you later, Rose."

"Okay, thanks! Bye, Al!"

Rose bounded up and joined her friends. The ring of their lighthearted laughter echoed back to Albus until they were well out of sight.

Albus stuck his feet into the cold water and lay back once more. This time his solitude went uninterrupted by friendly faces.

* * *

Albus Severus Potter was lost, well and truly.

He supposed it was no big surprise. Hogwarts was a huge, enchanted castle with moving staircases and an indeterminate number of floors (theoretically there were seven, but Albus had heard more than one student swear to getting dumped by a staircase onto the mythical eighth level). 'Lost' was probably all you _could_ get if you stupidly decided to wander through the school with no direction or destination in mind, if you allowed yourself simply to take the stairs that presented themselves and traverse the halls that appeared beneath your feet.

Albus sighed. It was getting near dinnertime and he was really quite hungry.

His shoes tapped down an otherwise empty and silent corridor. Empty, that was, but for the portraits lining the walls. When Albus's stomach gave a mighty growl, he decided the time might have come to ask for help.

He turned to the picture of a woman bedecked in armor. She was poking her sleeping dragon companion with a sword almost teasingly. The dragon huffed in its sleep, fire erupting from its nostrils. The warrior laughed as she patted flames out of her red curls. Eyes large, Albus stumbled away and searched for a more approachable portrait.

"What, _what_?" snorted a cranky old man when Albus pulled his attention away from the skeleton he was examining.

"N-nothing," Albus lied. "Sorry." The man grunted and resumed his work; Albus staggered away, wiping his sweaty hands against his trousers. With a sigh, he went back to wandering.

As he turned the next corner, Albus was overwhelmingly relieved to hear voices. He hurried his pace, and it was only as he grew closer that he began to realize something was wrong.

"…untouchable, did you? It makes me sick. You rich pureblood bastards get away with literal murder and think you're so high-and-fucking-mighty."

"It's all a hoot to you, isn't it," contributed a second voice. "Holed up in your mansion, dancing in your blood money while other kids grow up without mothers or fathers because of you."

Albus sped up even more, and when he rounded the corner he came face to face with a gut-wrenching, though not entirely surprising, sight. All four heads rotated in his direction, but the largest Gryffindor did not release the boy he held pinned against the wall.

Albus opened his mouth to say something, but now that he was here, facing three boys so much his superior in size and skill—fifth-years, by Albus's estimation—he found a blockage in his vocal passageways. All that emerged was a squeak.

The gang's leader raised an amused eyebrow. "Move along, Potter," he said, gesturing patronizingly with his free hand. Then he smiled thoughtfully. "Unless you'd like to join? You're a victim too. I reckon you deserve a go once we've had ours. Don't you think?"

His friends nodded their agreement, smiling kindly, as though they'd just offered him a wonderful gift. A wash of ice water swept through Albus's veins, stilling his heart and relaxing his limbs.

"Scorpius, you ready to go to dinner?" he asked, ignoring the Gryffindors entirely.

The ringleader's expression hardened. "Sorry, Potter, but we're not done talking to your friend just yet."

"I think you are."

"Well _I _think you should slither out of here unless you wanna get hurt too."

The threat was answered by bright laughter. The boy's jaw stiffened, but his back-up duo shifted nervously on their feet.

"Are you sure about that?" Albus asked lightly, still grinning. "Do you _really_ want to beat up _Harry Potter's_ son? That seem like a smart idea to you?"

The Gryffindor scowled, but his friends were already tugging at his sleeves, muttering in his ears. He gave Scorpius one last shove before releasing him and strutting away, flanked by his friends. Albus didn't move until the sound of footsteps had faded away.

Finally he looked at the boy he'd rescued. The question "Are you okay?" shriveled and died in the back of his throat as he was met with a glare. Dumbstruck, Albus froze in place as Scorpius stormed past him.

Blinking rapidly, Albus unstuck his feet and ran after him. Scorpius radiated anger as Albus kept pace with him.

"Why are you upset at _me_?" Albus cried. "I just saved your neck!"

Scorpius halted so suddenly that Albus nearly tripped over himself as he tried to follow suit.

"I don't want you using your bloody fame to protect me," Scorpius snarled.

Incredulous, Albus threw up his arms. "Well what was I _supposed_ to use?" he asked. "My wand? Any one of them probably could've hexed my arm off before I even drew it!"

"Just shove off, Potter," Scorpius said. "And next time, _don't _help. Go satisfy your hero needs somewhere else, I'm not your goddamn pet."

With a swish of the robes, Scorpius set off down the corridor. Albus stared after him for a moment. Almost reluctant to ruin what he was sure Scorpius had intended to be a dramatic exit, Albus jogged to catch up with the other Slytherin boy, trailing just behind his left shoulder.

Scorpius kept facing straight ahead, but his hands bunched into fists at his sides.

"Didn't I tell you to shove off?" he growled.

"Er, yes… it's just… well I'm lost, actually," admitted Albus, "so I thought I'd just follow you back…"

Scorpius sighed, but said nothing else as they wound their way through the castle and eventually arrived together at the Great Hall. Albus was a little sad when Scorpius immediately detached from his side and took his usual seat alone. Albus heeded the calls of the first-year girls and let the matter of Scorpius Malfoy drift out of his mind.


	6. Conspicuous Absence

Distracted as he was by the stomach full of dread that always accompanied being forced onto a broom, it took Albus several minutes into Flying class to realize what, or rather _whom_, was missing.

"Madam Hooch?" he called. She broke off her lecture to Julius Handell about the proper way to grip a broom.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked briskly.

"Where's Scorpius?"

Her yellow, hawkish eyes narrowed at him. "I do not believe that is any concern of yours, Mr. Potter."

"But he was in class this morning," Albus pressed.

Madam Hooch ruffled her feathers—or, er, straightened up and shook herself in a way that only strongly _reminded_ Albus of a bird.

"As I said, it is no concern of yours. What _is_ your concern, however, is learning how to properly mount that broom beneath you, and I will _teach _you to do so if it kills me!"

Madam Hooch marched over to him and spent the next several minutes fruitlessly trying to correct his mount and stance. This was the same struggle they'd had the week before, and Albus did not have to be a genius to know he was little liked by the Flying instructor. She seemed to think he was being intentionally difficult rather than just hopelessly incapable.

"Your father flew better his first time on a broom than many professional Quidditch players…" she had muttered during their first class. As if Albus _needed_ reminding that he was a complete failure in comparison to his dad.

By the time Madam Hooch threw her hands up in defeat and stomped away, Albus was in a rotten mood. He _hated_ flying. Why in the name of Merlin's big toe was this a required class anyways?

Muttering to himself about the unfairness of the system, Albus was quite startled to hear a quiet voice say, "Hey."

The girl who had spoken was a Gryffindor. She was the same height as Albus, her eyes blue and her long hair a dark brown. Her face was round, but the thin, sharp nose took away some of her softness. He recognized her from class, but didn't know her name.

"Oh. Er, hi," he answered, nervously twirling the broomstick in his hand.

"I think I know where Malfoy is."

Albus was so shocked by this declaration that he could only stare as she explained.

"I… overheard a few boys in the common room after lunch," she told him. "They were bragging about teaching Malfoy a lesson. I think he's probably in the hospital wing."

A phantom hand reached inside Albus's stomach and amused itself by scrambling his intestines. He swallowed hard to keep the bile down.

"Sorry," the girl added.

"No, I… That is… Thanks," Albus said. "Er… Sorry, what's your name?"

"Prudence. I go by Prue."

_Halloway, Prudence_, he remembered.

Nodding, Albus snuck a glance at their teacher. Her back was to him as she spoke to Marcus, who was levitating at four feet.

"Alright," he said. "I'm gonna go see him."

"What, right now? The Hawk'll notice. You can go as soon as class finishes."

His midsection wrenched viciously, like he'd been gutted with a hunting knife. "No, I don't think so," he said. "It honestly might make me sick."

Prue sighed. "Fine. Then just tell her that, why don't you, instead of sneaking off? She can't stop you from going to the hospital wing because you feel sick."

"That's… kinda obvious now that you say it." He gave her an embarrassed smile. "Thanks again."

"Yeah, well." She shrugged, grinning lopsidedly. "You just needed a dose of Gryffindor common sense. Slytherins want everything to be clever and sneaky all the time, but sometimes a more direct approach is the better one."

"_Sometimes_ maybe," he conceded teasingly. Prue snorted, then took the broom from his hand and gave him a shove.

"Go on, then," she said. "You wanted to go see him, didn't you?"

Without another word, Albus walked slowly across the grass to Madam Hooch, almost stumbling. He made an effort to look like he was on the verge of throwing up.

"Madam Hooch?" he whined. The professor turned around, and glared when she saw his condition. "I don't feel well. Can I please go in?"

"I do not appreciate students missing my class," she informed him. "Do not make this a habit."

When she returned her attention to Marcus, Albus figured he was allowed to go. He turned on his heel and sprinted across the lawns.

* * *

The sound of voices drifted into the hallway outside of the hospital wing. Albus slowed his hurried pace, having no desire to intrude if there were already people inside. He'd assumed that Scorpius wouldn't have any visitors, but perhaps he'd been wrong.

He hovered uncertainly in the hall. Stay or go? The sound of voices grew louder now, but the words were still too muffled to make out. Deciding to at least look in before making up his mind, Albus crept forward and peeked around the door. He was met with a shocking sight: Draco Malfoy, pacing the floor of the Hogwarts hospital wing, and with him, Headmistress McGonagall. Scorpius seemed to be unconscious in the bed behind the Headmistress. From this distance Albus couldn't discern anything more than his shape.

"There is no need to shout, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall was saying. "Please contain your temper."

"No need—? Contain my—?" he spluttered. Whirling towards her, he snapped, "_How_ can you have let this happen? This is outrageous! Parents should be able to send their children to school without worrying for their safety."

"That is _enough_."

Albus shivered at the frost in her voice. Draco too seemed to feel the chill, and he took a step further away from the witch, a shudder running through his body.

"Must I remind you of your own years at Hogwarts?" she said. "Do you deny that you yourself helped to make the school unsafe for other students?"

A flash of extreme hurt speared Draco's expression, and the rage that followed did not do a perfect job of covering it up.

"How dare you," he whispered, his lips trembling. "I— Never once did I instigate physical violence on another student," he said, regaining some of his righteousness. "I was, in fact, the _victim_ of such violence on several occasions."

"Do not play the victim with me, Draco Malfoy. Both you and I know that you intentionally provoked Potter and the Weasleys beyond their limits."

Malfoy's mouth twisted halfway into a sneer before relaxing.

"Fine," he admitted, sticking his chin up. "I own to that now. I _was_ mostly responsible for the injuries I obtained from Potter and his friends."

He took a step towards McGonagall, his features softening, grey eyes almost pleading. "But if I am sure of anything," he said, so quiet now that Albus had to strain to hear him, "it is that my son is in _no way_ responsible for this. Scorpius is… is not like I was. He's better."

"I agree," McGonagall said kindly.

Draco nodded, giving her a weak smile.

"Scorpius is a quiet boy. Never friendly, but always respectful," she went on. "He keeps to himself, from all that I've seen. I have no doubt that the attack was unprovoked. Even _had_ it been provoked, that would be no excuse for three fifth-year boys to do this to a first-year. I assure you that those involved are being punished and I do not expect anything like this to happen again."

"How can you say that? You know the world we live in. It will _keep_ happening unless you _do_ something! You have to protect my son. Please, Headmistress."

"The punishments should dissuade other students from following the example of their Gryffindor peers. Beyond that, there is little I can do short of giving young Mr. Malfoy a security detail of enchanted gargoyles."

"If anything happens to him—"

"I will say this," McGonagall interrupted. "Scorpius would be safer if he did not isolate himself. He should make friends. Friends keep us safer than anything else can. At the very least, he should walk to his classes with other students, so he can't easily be cornered alone."

Rounding the doorway, and hardly _believing_ his nerve, Albus declared, "I'll do it."

McGonagall and Malfoy turned to him with mirrored expressions of surprise. His heart thumped uncomfortably hard inside his chest, his palms growing moist. He was deeply embarrassed that he'd been eavesdropping, and, worse, that he'd revealed himself.

Upon recognition, Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes curiously, but McGonagall merely raised an amused eyebrow.

"Mr. Potter, is there not a class you are meant to be attending?"

"I, er, felt sick, so Madam Hooch let me leave. Ma'am."

"I see." The continued amusement in her voice left no doubt that she saw right through him. For a split second, Albus feared that she would send him on his way, but she surprised him by saying, "Come in, then. One should never linger in doorways."

Albus obeyed her instruction, walking shakily to the bed where Scorpius slept.

He inhaled a sharp breath. Scorpius's normally pale face was sickly colorful and swollen to a horrific degree. There were spots of dried blood staining the platinum blond hair near his scalp. Madam Pomfrey must have failed to spot them in her cleaning—all other blood had been magicked away.

Clearly a severe beating had taken place. And Albus didn't even know what the _rest_ of the boy's body looked like. He felt his lip start to tremble. A part of him knew it wasn't fair or logical, but as Albus stared down at the bruised face, he felt responsible. He had no doubt that the perpetrators were those he had interrupted earlier in the week. Had his interference led to a harsher pummeling for Scorpius? Why hadn't Albus _reported_ the incident before anything like this could happen?

"Mr. Potter, this is Draco Malfoy, Scorpius's father."

Albus tore his eyes away from the bed. Draco politely held out a hand, even as his grey eyes—exactly like Scorpius's—examined Albus intently. Though he shook with nerves, Albus reached out and took the man's hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. If not in the circumstances I would have liked," Malfoy said, sounding pained as he turned to look at his son. Albus felt an unexpected lurch of joy that, despite anything else, Scorpius at least had a father who loved him deeply.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Malfoy," muttered Albus.

"Potter," the Headmistress said. "Am I correct to believe that you were accepting the role of Scorpius's friend?"

"Er… Well I mean, I— I don't… er," stammered Albus. "I mean… I can walk with him to classes."

"Even if he does not want it?"

"I don't care if I annoy him," Albus promised. "If it means this won't happen again."

* * *

When Albus left the hospital wing several minutes later, Draco made a face and sighed heavily. "I am growing uncomfortable with the number of debts I owe the Potter family," he said.

McGonagall smiled. "No debt is owed when a friend does a favor for a friend."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You think Potter and my son are friends?" he asked, shooting a curious look at Scorpius.

"No. But Potter would like to be," she answered. Smiling thoughtfully, she gazed down at the injured boy. "Though they may not realize it now, I believe Albus and Scorpius could be very good for each other. It is time we all stop looking to the past and start looking to the future, Mr. Malfoy. And that may very well start here, with these two boys."


	7. Release from Hospital

When Scorpius woke the next day, Albus was in the chair by his bed, reading his Transfiguration textbook. He put it down with a shy smile when Scorpius's grey eyes began to struggle open.

"You're in the hospital wing," said Albus. The boy turned his head on the pillow, staring straight at Albus.

"I didn't need to be told that," he said, his voice scratchy.

Albus blushed. No, of course he didn't. Madam Pomfrey had told him earlier that Scorpius had still been conscious when he'd been brought in. That was when he'd identified his assailants. Madam Pomfrey had been the one to knock him out with a potion, so that his body could be given time to heal its worst injuries.

Sitting up against the headboard, Scorpius began to cough.

"Here." Albus handed a cup of water to the other boy. Scorpius took it and drank slowly, fixing his gaze on the white wall opposite.

Now that Scorpius was awake, Albus felt much more nervous. It was one thing to keep watch over someone who was asleep and couldn't tell the difference, and another thing entirely to keep watch over someone awake who probably didn't want you there. He couldn't think of anything to say, and so ended up staring down at his book, his nails picking at each other.

Several minutes passed. Then,

"Why are you here?" Scorpius droned.

Albus cleared his throat. "I, erm… I don't know. I just… wanted to be sure… you recovered, I suppose."

"Surely Madam Pomfrey told you I wasn't going to die."

"Erm, yes, she did, but I… well, wanted to see you wake up for myself," he said. "Wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Do I _look_ okay?" asked Scorpius, his battered face twitching into a knowing smile.

"Erm…"

"Oh, nevermind," he sighed, quickly tired of teasing the timid boy.

"I can't believe anyone would do this," said Albus, his eyes roving the evidence of Scorpius's assault. The young Malfoy regarded him in return. "How in Merlin's name did they think they could get away with it?"

"They were thinking like Gryffindors," Scorpius said. "A Gryffindor would never tattle; it goes against their code of pride. They think the 'brave' thing to do is suffer in silence. Morons," he scoffed. "I had nothing to lose and everything to gain by turning them in."

"But… what if they retaliate?"

Scorpius snorted. "They wouldn't dare touch me now. They'd be expelled, and they know it."

"How did you know they hadn't already been expelled?"

"McGonagall would never expel a student on a first offense," he said matter-of-factly. Before Albus could ask why Scorpius was so sure of this, the young Malfoy went on. "But how _were_ they punished? Tell me."

"Well…" said Albus. "They've each got detention every night for a month, they've been banned from all Hogsmeade visits this year, Gryffindor was docked one hundred points for each of them-"

Scorpius sniggered.

"-one of them was a beater on the Quidditch team, so he was banned from playing again, and the biggest one-"

"Derek Jacobsen."

"Right. He was a prefect, but now he's been stripped of the title."

"Good."

Albus nodded.

"Ah! Mr. Malfoy, you're awake!"

The two boys looked up to see Madam Pomfrey trudging across the room towards them. She stopped beside Scorpius's bed, placing a hand to his forehead.

"Your temperature is good, good," she said. Scorpius remained patiently still as she ran through a quick series of tests. Her final prognosis was: "Good. Well, Mr. Malfoy, I'd say I've done all I can for you. The pain won't go away for many days, but if you take those pills I gave you, it won't be so bad. Now, I'll just fix you up with a little glamour charm to hide the injuries, and then you'll—"

"No."

The elderly lady faltered to a stop. Eyes narrowing in confusion, she said, "No? You… don't wish for a glamour? Are you certain? It would hide all these nasty bruises, dear."

"No," Scorpius said again, calmly and respectfully. "But thank you for the offer, Madam Pomfrey."

"Oh. Oh, well, very well," she said, flustered. "There you are, then. You are free to go as soon as you see fit, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you."

She bobbed her head in a nod, then turned and retreated once more into her office.

Wordlessly, Scorpius began to extricate himself from his bedclothes. Albus watched him, wanting to offer help, but feeling it wiser not to make that mistake. But another trouble plagued his mind, and this one he gave voice to.

"You really want people… seeing you like that?" he asked, keeping a careful eye in case he riled the other boy.

Scorpius set his bare feet on the floor, and then reached for the school clothes that had been laid out for him on the bedside table. Sitting motionless on the bed, he stared hard at Albus.

"Oh!" Albus burst. He took a step back and drew up Scorpius's white curtain, privately grateful for his own sake that it now hid his reddened face from the Malfoy heir.

"You think it shows weakness, don't you?" Scorpius's voice came through the fabric barrier, accompanied by the noises of his changing clothes. "You're still thinking like a Gryffindor. Don't be so stupid, Potter. Use your brain. Do you honestly think it makes me, an eleven-year-old boy, _weak_ to be beaten up by three boys twice my size?"

"No!"

"Precisely." The curtain was thrown back, and Scorpius stepped forth, fully outfitted in school uniform and the face of a piñata. "The real weakness," he continued to lecture, straightening his Slytherin tie, "is shame, is allowing them to think I perceive my beating as a weakness, as something I need to conceal."

Scorpius set to walking towards the doors and Albus followed without thinking, trailing along and hanging on his every word.

"The other students will see my face and it will make them squirm. It will show them that I am not ashamed of what happened to me, and they'll know that if they try the same, I won't hide it for them. I'll display _their _weakness to the whole school. For what can it be but weakness when fifth-years gang up on a child to do this?"

Albus gaped in awe at the boy he wished he could call friend. "Merlin," he breathed.

Scorpius spared him a glance sideways as they rounded the corner of the hallway. "What?"

"You're going to be Minister of Magic someday."

Scorpius squinted at him, clearly under the impression that Albus had swallowed some potion or other that caused him to blurt out nonsensical things. "What are you on about, Potter?"

"Nothing, nevermind," Albus said quickly, his heart rate spiking at the look he was receiving. But then Scorpius turned away again, and Albus could not help a smile.

_Yeah. Definitely Minister of Magic._


End file.
